Silver Skies
by SelfDestructIn54321
Summary: Tris is the leader of the wolf pack Divergent; during a peace ceromony with another pack, Abnegation, she and her pack are attacked by Dauntless, one of the most dangerous packs in CA. Will her life ever be the same? Present time. T for violence and paranoia. Reveiw, lovelies! Pic: FB.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I found this idea from Secretspy286, and she let me use it. Check out her story, it's awesome. Disclaimer: Disclaimed. I don't even own the idea of the fic—though I do own the plot. Loves.**

**Chapter 1**

The brush slid easily through my hair. I was glad I'd conditioned it three extra times, even if it took longer. The mirror I stand in front of reflects me, with my caramel hair and blue-grey eyes, and my room, painted a dull blue, the carpet a cadet shade of blue. The double bed was a perfect shade of gray-toasted lavender, with blue pillows. I hear a knock at the door and hold the brush in one hand like a weapon, though I doubt I would need it. I was right, it's my brother Caleb, who is tall with dark-hair and fake glasses.

"Hey, Beatrice!" Caleb exclaimed, I made face.

"Why do you have to be so happy all the time?" I asked.

"It keeps my complexion clear." Caleb said innocently. After a minute of trying not to we burst into laughter. "I came to make sure you were awake. I didn't want you to be late to school," he said after we finished laughing.

"Please, Caleb," I said, a wave of annoyance coloring my eyes, "Am I ever late?"

"No," Caleb smiled, and backed away, grabbing his gigantic backpack and trooping down the stairs. I grabbed my own backpack, a normal-sized purple one, and slung one strap over my shoulder. On my way out the door, I grabbed an orange.

The walk to school was uneventful. I switched off between jogging and walking, peeling the orange and throwing the peelings onto the dirt. When I get to school I grab my morning books and head outside to the willow tree. The tree is as tall as the second-floor science classroom and I have to duck under the vines to sit against the trunk. A girl with coffee-dark skin and hair and determined eyes stands next to me. I nod at her.

"Hey Christina," I say, and only then does the girl smile.

"Hey, Tris."

That's how it works with my gang; I acknowledge them first, and then they are free to talk. I am the leader.

Will, another newer member of my gang comes up and stands next to me as well. I nod at him and he settles back, grabbing Christina's hand with a lazy expression.

The next person to arrive to our meeting place is Uriah, a darker-skinned, trigger-happy daredevil who always has a smile on his face. Next comes Marlene, who has a crush on Uriah, but either he doesn't notice her flirtations, or he ignores them. Last to arrive is Al. Al is a gentle-giant type, who doesn't fight, but is good for intimidation purposes. This is my gang.

"So, Uriah, how goes Anderson?" I ask, naming one of my rival towns.

"Well, you know Susan," Uriah says, momentarily replacing his lazy expression for a more irked one, "Stubborn as a bull, that one."

"_Don't I know,"_ I thought. Susan is my brother's crush. She is also a wolfblood, a sort of reformed werewolf that turns during full moons, at will, and in heightened emotional situations.

"Will, what about Redding?" I ask naming another rival group.

"They haven't shown up to our meetings lately," Will says frustratedly, "The last time I saw them only this one puny kid showed himself, wanting a fight this Friday."

"Lovely," I mumbled.

"Oh, Susan wants a peace treaty on Wednesday," Uriah announces.

"Today is Wednesday," He nods, "Dammit, Uriah! When I ask for info, I want a full report!" I growl through clenched teeth.

"I know, I know, I just forgot."

"Last Friday was when you met with them last!"

"Yeaaah."

"Fine. Whatever. Be on time with me next time." I snap.

"Mmm-hmm, of course." The bell rings, and I straighten up and head towards the main building.

The whole gang has to be present for a peace treaty. It is required. Susan's gang is bigger than mine, but much less violent. Most of them wear baggy clothes, and they call themselves Abnegation. My gang, settles in Happy Valley. A small town between Anderson and Redding is called Divergent, and Redding is Dauntless. Amity is in San Francisco, Candor is in Corning, and Weaverville is Erudite.

They are all Wolfbloods. To humans, they are gangs—which they are —but they are also packs. I am the leader of Divergent, Susan is the leader of Abnegation, a guy named Four runs Dauntless, and a girl named Cara runs Erudite. I have never had to associate with the others and therefore I don't know their leaders names.

Susan and her pack are all wolves, as am I, and the rest of Divergent. The thought came to my mind unwillingly and I pushed it away.

_We're here for a peace treaty, Tris. Quit thinking of ways to hurt people._

**B**etween one step and the next I shift into my human form gracefully, and stand up. I stop when I am about three feet away from Susan, who has also shifted.

"Hey, Susan," I say politely. I don't particularly hate her however, I am frequently annoyed by the girl's stubbornness.

"Hello, Tris," Susan says, "Hey, Divergent!" Some of the pack members nod or snort in acknowledgment; Uriah yaps lightly.

"So you want to call a peace treaty?" I ask, smoothing my black pants.

"Of course," Susan says, sweeping her long black hair off her shoulder. Her violet eyes smile with her mouth, and Christina butts her head against my leg. She is telling the truth.

I smile.

"We would love to establish a peace treaty with you," I say, "but we aren't you guys, and we're not Amity. If we say yes to your offers, then we're not jumping in front of trains to prove our loyalty, and we're not going to be playing video games with each-other to bond."

"I wouldn't expect you to. I'd just like for us to stop trying to kill one another," she says seriously.

I smile at her humor. "So, what's your first condition?"

Just as we are about to shake hands, I hear a rustle in the bushes and freeze; both Divergent and Abnegation are still, and Will is growling lightly. He can sense danger.

I slap my hand into Susan's, shake it once, and I back up shifting as I go. Her eyes are wide, and she sweeps around, spinning, eyes yellow. There is a ring of people around both of our packs.

Susan turns again, "you tricked us!" She exclaims. Uriah yips in protest. Susan shifts, turns, and pounces on me. So that's how it's going to be.

I dodge her jump, stepping away at the last possible moment, then I jump her.

My jaws, clad with razor-sharp fanged teeth, latch onto her neck, and I shake her in my mouth as if to decapitate her without any blades, but I let her go. Her body flies across the clearing and hits a tree where she falls against the trunk. She doesn't get up.

All of Divergent, including me, howls in victory, though we were just at a peace ceremony. Our celebration ceases when one of the howls changes from one of triumph, to one of pain.

It's Uriah.

Packs are extremely loyal therefore even though there's an active threat in front of us, we turn to the yellow-lab colored wolf who has just attacked one of our members. Will's teeth are bared and he jumps for the wolf just as one of the Abnegations goes for Christina. She growls, multiplies in size, and dodges them effortlessly.

The pack outside all have glowing yellow eyes except for one, a dark brown one with dark blue eyes. I recognize the leader. Dauntless.

I know the dark brown wolf is the leader and I wait for him to come to me. His pack has one less member than mine, but Al won't fight, so we're even.

The leader is in front of me.

"So, this is the ruthless Tris," he says, growling lightly with dangerous-looking wolf smile.

"And you're Four, right?" I ask, faking innocence before going in for the kill, "You hear from your daddy lately?" I taunt.

Four growls louder, going for my neck, but I spin away, yipping with laughter.

He, still clumsy with anger, follows me as I back away. He laughs to himself when he sees the _"oh fuck"_ in my eyes; I backed myself against a tree.

I am going to die.

Four howls. It isn't a howl of joy and contentment or pain and fear; it was a command, a _watch as I kill her_ howl.

Fighting ceases around us. The clearing is absolutely silent. Four is smiling. He steps closer and I panic. I press my wolf-body harder into the tree. He opens his mouth, flashing his razor teeth, and snaps at the air in front of me, in an attempt to intimidate me. Then, he goes for my neck.

He misses.

I saw the momentary opportunity to run, and I took it. When he realized he missed, he swiped his claws at me but I am too fast for him, too fast for anybody. My power is that in fear, anger, and any negative emotion I can muster that would heighten my adrenaline, I can channel it into a human ability, say like strength or speed or idiocity. In this instance it boosted my speed.

I streaked past him, past the clearing, and flee the battle.

And my pack.

**Okay, lovelies, this was edited by my betas, alexmichele and pinkrose14. NOT ONLY BY ME. So, hopefully it doesn't have as many mistakes. Loves!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for late updates; I'm really feeling this story right now, and so I'm planning on updating everyday, but my computer died before I got one word typed, and I was already on the road (moving to Oregon for Texas), so I was virtually fucked. Review, lovelies.**

Chapter 2

I shifted back to human form, and immediately realized something was wrong; I didn't check it yet, just replayed the fight in my mind, called myself a coward, and tore off a strip of my shirt, grumbling to myself angrily as I tied it.

I'd obviously run in the wrong direction; I didn't exit the forest across from the school, into the clearing where Shauna's house was, or to the side of Will's house: it was a gas station, with like two cars in it. One guy, with graying black hair and flat brown eyes, a big burly guy with dark skin. I dismissed him, and went into the mini mart for some water; when I came back out, a hand wrapped around my arm and tugged me forcefully around the corner. I was expecting, like, a Dauntless or Divergent—Hell, even Abnegation—disgruntled pack member.

It wasn't a disgruntled pack member.

It was the guy from the gas pump. If he was younger, maybe a little shorter, I'd probably think something like, _Oh, holy fuck. _But, he wasn't, and, therefore, my first thought was: _Oh, holy shitnards. I'm fucked. _

He smiled, like Four had before her NDE (**near death experience) **had occurred, but he wasn't a wolf. "Hey, gorgeous." He greeted, and his hands pressed into her waist.

"_Get your hands off of me!"_ I growled, wielded my Knife In Your Eye voice, but he only smiled wider.

"Ooh. Feisty," He said, his hands trailing down her hips and thighs. They tightened around just above my knees, around the claw marks, and I gasped in pain. "Now, I'd be quiet." He said. "Or it'll be a hellava lot worse." His hands went to the button of my pants, but I pushed him away and kneed him in the groin. He winced, but his expression was angry. When I saw it, my breath sped up with panic.

"I'm sorry—I just-" He slammed against me, pressing me to the wall. When he talked, he spit on me.

"Now you've angered me," He said, scary calm. "I don't think you want to do that again, Beatrice."

_How does he know my name? _I was thinking, but my breath hitched and I screamed before I could even begin to reason it out; there was a pain in my leg, on the claw marks, or by them, or in them, I didn't know, but it made all of my mind blank, agony streaking my vision with black dots. And something pressed against my face.

**FPOV**

I was walking home angrily when I heard something; it was angry, a growl. "_Get your hands off of me!"_ At the voice, I stopped dead in my tracks. It was feminine, but the tone was threatening, deadly. I felt rage rising in my chest. I looked around the corner, making no noise, and staying in the shadows. A guy stood in front of a girl—a beautiful blonde, with blue-grey eyes, like Tris, the leader of Divergent.

I dismissed it. It wasn't her.

The guy's face was angry, and when she saw it, the girl's own anger turned to that of panic. "I'm sorry—I just-"She started, breathing like she was hyperventilating.

He threw his body into hers, pinning her to the wall. "Now you've angered me," he said. "I don't think you want to do that again, Beatrice." He said, and his hand fumbled with something in his back pocket, a knife or something; I straightened, but before I could move, he slammed it into her leg. She let out a breathless sort of scream, and her eyes, long lashed, fluttered shut. He grabbed something else from his pocket, and pressed it against her face. She coughed once, then fell; he caught her head, laid it against the cracked asphalt, and his hands lowered quite a bit.

I was appalled.

"Hey!" I yelled. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Oh, relax. My girlfriend's just a little drunk." He picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder, and making towards a truck.

"That's not your girlfriend." I said.

"And how do you know?"

"Because she hates you, and you stabbed her."

"I did not-"

"Put her down."

"No."

_Thank you for saying that._ I punch him in the face, and he drops the girl; her head hits the ground with a sickening crack. The guy turns, an angry expression on his face. I kick him in the stomach before he opens his mouth. He doubles over, retching, and when I hit him again—a punch to the jaw—he stumbled back into the girl, hitting her leg.

Her eyes snap open.

The guy slings a fist at me, but I dodge, stepping away; he repeats three times until I fetch (**no pun intended)** up against the wall. Then, he raises a dagger—how many does this bitch have?-and falls to the ground. Where he was standing, is the girl; she's wearing black. Although I don't know why I notice that, because of her eyes.

She has yellow eyes.

Then, they blank, and I catch her as she falls.

I take the girl to my apartment; dad's on a business trip, thank god. I set her on my bed, settle in my desk chair uncomfortably, and promptly fall asleep.

I woke to a whimper; the girl from last night was still on my bed, and her hands were trembling over her leg. Her eyes were staring at me, wide with fear, and her face is pale under a healthy tan. She was crying quietly, and her cheeks are wet with tears.

I rubbed my eyes, and walked over to her; she'd gotten under a blanket, probably in the middle of the night. I throw it away, and gape at the knife in her leg.

"I'm an idiot," I said, face-palming. The girl is staring at me. "What's your name?"

"Um. Beatrice." She said hesitantly.

"It doesn't suit you." I said, and her mouth curved into a frown. "Well, _Beatrice, _this is going to have to come out." I said, pointing to the knife.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! I DID remember to charge my computer! Thanks for the reviews (the whole two, but whatever. One on each chapter so far, so keep it up, lovelies!), and guess what?! I got a picture with a weird dinosaur made of what I think was plaster, realized that the mirror in a sort of mini-mall with a Burger King's bathroom wasn't a mirror, it was an absent wall with a mirror on the wall across from it: I'm an idiot. Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

Chapter 3

I swallowed the Ibuprofen the guy gave me, and wondered why he wasn't killing me. He didn't look at me like he wanted to kill me; he looked at me like he was puzzled.

But his eyes were the same, that dark blue like clowded cobalt rivers. Maybe he was, like, Four's brother or something. If he was, then I needed to leave, like, _yesterday. _

"Look, I can just drive myself to a hospital-"

"Would you shut up about that?" The guy asked, digging through his bedside table, to her left, by her good leg. "You can't go to a hospital; they'll take blood." Her retrieved a wad of cotton, a rectangular pad of it, and looked at it with utter satisfaction.

"What's wrong with blood?" I asked. "And why do you keep that in your nightstand?" I said, as he grabbed a roll of gauze from the drawer.

"They'll figure out your a Wolfblood," he said, moving to her right side. "And that's none of your business." He said, and sized up the knife. As his hand neared the knife, panic streaked through me.

"_Please _let me go to a hospital for this!" I almost-shouted. "Please, guy-"

"My name's Tobias." He said. "And no." He said, and scissored off one of my pant legs so he could access the wound.

"But—_wait-"_ His hand closed around the knife, and my breath caught; I let it out, so when the real pain started I'd have no breath to scream.

One of his hands was around the hilt of the dagger; the other was beside it, holding the cotton pad beside the wound. "Where'd you these marks?" He asked, eyes wide. Though he looked like he wasn't going to do anything at that moment, my voice still came out in pants, panicked hyperventilate-y words.

"Fight . . . other wolf . . . probably killing . . . my pack. . . . coward," Somehow, he understood my broken sentence.

"You aren't a coward," he said. "Fleeing is brave, if you know you can't win."

"Shut up-" I was arguing, when he pulled on the knife; my left hand tangled in the fabric of his comforter; the other dug into the skin of my good knee. My breath stopped, and anger bubbled up inside of me. I know he just did that to shut me up. Maybe I could turn that knife on him—_Tris, you're overreacting, _said Caleb's voice inside my head. _Shut up, Caleb._ I thought.

Tobias wiggled the knife to get it unstuck; I threw torso to the side and bit into his pillow to keep from screaming.

"So, what's your power?" Tobias asked cheerfully.

"Fuck you!" I growled into the pillow.

"Jeez, Beatrice, just trying to change the subject."

"How about getting the _fucking_ knife out of my _fucking_ leg?!" I yelled.

"Beatrice? Shut up," he said calmly, and the knife came out; he pressed the cotton to it, swiping the blood off twice before switching the cotton pad and wrapping the gause tightly around my thigh. I screamed into his pillow, the pain blocking out the awkwardness of the situation I was in.

"There," Tobias said, smoothing the guaze on the top of my thigh, and smiling lightly. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Before he was halfway through the sentence, my fist slammed into his face; he'd turned his head so my knuckles cushioned on his cheek instead of the breaking of his nose. He was laughing hysterically.

"You're an asshole!" I hissed.

"Yeah," he laughed. "I know." Then, he got up and shoved another pillow under my head so I sat up. "I'll go get you some water." He said, disappearing out of the room. I laid back, resting my head on his pillows, and wiped sweat from my forehead; after a minute, I heard another voice, meaner tha Tobias's and more growling, loud enough that I heard it upstairs.

And it sounded like Four.

I threw myself off the bed, shoving shit into his nightstand drawer, bloody cotton pads and rolls of guaze, the knife, dripping in my blood. Then, I shut it, and jumped out his window, cursing; I half-ran down the street until I saw stretch of trees; when I did, vaulted into them, shifting, and cursed when a branch hit my leg.

I wolf-sighed as tingling consumed my leg, healing it.

_Blup. Bllluuup-p. Bluuuuuup. _

After about three minutes of throwing rocks—I started with pebbles, but they weren't very loud—at her window, Christina threw open her window, eyes blazing yellow.

"_What the fuck are you doing?!"_ Chris exclaimed. "It's four a.m.!" She yelled, then caught sight of me and paled considerably. "Oh—Tris, I'm _so_ sorry, I thought you were Will-"

"Does will come over to your house often?" I asked.

"What's wrong?" She asked, dodging the question.

"I need to borrow some pants!" _Okay, that came out wrong. _"Like, half mine are missing."

"Oh. Okay . . . ," she said, turning around and fishing through her closet. "Here, wear these." She announced, flinging denim out of the window; I caught it. "Have this, too, you look like crap." She yelled, and threw down another garment.

"Thanks," I said, sarcastically, and turned to Christina's mother's garden. "I'm changing in your bushes!" I announced. Christina laughed and shut her window, pulling the curtain tight.

The clothes Christina gave me actually didn't make me look like shit: torn pink skinny jeans—although lowrise—whose shade commented my hair and skin, and a black tank that complemented my eyes. I still wore my boots. I'd twisted my hair into a messy bun, and washed my face in the bathroom at the school; I also threw away my bandage and put in the earrings I'd removed last night for if the peace ceremony went awry. They were silver rings—not hoops, rings—with tribal symbools all over them.

I put on sunglasses, and went to my tree.

"How did you know I was a Wolfblood?" Tobias, under the tree, looked up, startled, but, upon seeing my caramel hair, sighed.

"You attacked that guy last night," he said, "And your eyes were yellow."

"Lots of people's eyes are yellow." I replied, but I shuddered at the memory of the pedophilic rapist last night.

"Yeah, lots of Wolfbloods." He snorted.

"Yes, but how do you _know_?"

"I just _told_ you,"

"No, how do you know about Wolfbloods?"

"Oh, uh, my friend is one." He said sheepishly, and I knew that this was a subject he didn't want to approach.

"Who's your friend?"

"Beatrice-"

"Who's your friend?" My voice was borderline threatening.

"His name is Four, but I doubt you know him-"He cut off when I dropped from the branch I'd beenlying on.

"You're friends with _Four?"_

He winced. "Beatrice, you're using your alpha voice-"

"How do you know, if you're not a wolf?" I asked, eyes narrowed. I approached him slowly, and he began backing away. "Tobias?"

"I'm not-" I slammed him into the tree that he'd backed into, and had a flash of deja vu.

"Quit _lying_ to me, Tobias!" I screeched.

He was panicking, his eyes lightening, and he kept turning his head away from me, squinting his eyes. I knew my own were glinting an angry yellow. "Who are you?!"

"Tris?" Asked Will's voice, behind me. Tobias—I then saw his eyes were indeed yellow—darted away from me.

"Yeah, that's it, run, you coward!" I yelled after him. "I'll find out who you are!"

"Tris?" Asked Al, hesitantly. "We'd like to talk to you."

"You're out of the pack." Said someone, a girl with fluffy pink hair, a half-shaved head, and pale skin, wearing a barf-green jumpsuit.

""Who the fuck are you?" I sneered.

"I'm Malina," she said eyes wide and eyebrows raised, smiling, in an expression that I recognized as In Your Face.

"And I'm the new Divergent pack leader."


	4. Chapter 4

**What? Two updates in one day?! Yes, lovelies, you are not hallucinating. 'Tis me, almighty—all right, I know you're bored now. Enjoy, and review about my awesomeness. Disclaimer: Dislaimed. **

Chapter 4

Milina was smiling, bigger now that she saw my face, like a kid whose puppy died a day after she got it.

The wind was kicking up, playing with the vines of Divergent's willow tree. "I'm . . . what?" I asked, dazed.

"You. Are. Out." Milina smirked.

"You can't just kick me out of my own pack! I created Divergent, I _led_ it-"

"Well," The other girl said. "Not anymore. Your pack voted to cut you, Beatrice. It was unanimous. I'm leader now. So bye-bye!"

My eyebrows knitted together, my eyes narrowing, and I stepped closer to her, upper lip pulling off my teeth animalistically. "You're a wolf." I said superiorly. "_I'm_ an alpha."

"Nope. _I'm _the alpha." Milina announced, wiggling her fingers in a wave.

I grabbed her hand with one of mine, and jerked her head back by her hair with the other. "_I'm the alpha-"_

"Get your hands off of her." Said Will dangerously.

"She's our leader now." Said Marlene.

I didn't look away from Milina—whose eyes were no longer dull brown—and shoved her face closer to mine. "_I will find you,"_ I growled. "And I will destroy you."

I let go of her, turning and smoothing the wrinkles out of my pants. I heard a growl behind me, but again didn't turn. "Go ahead, _alpha._ Attack me. _Please_." Apparently that made up her mind, because she shut up. I walked away from my tree, and, as soon as I rounded the corner of the school, I began to run, not caring that tears were streaming down her face.

The first week, I locked myself in my room, skipped school, and cried. The second week, I planned my revenge. The third, I was always out of the house, running, either as a wolf or a human. I talked to no one, and walked miserably around school when my family forced me to go.

After about a month, though, my family called a suck-ass intervention about my grades, to my despair. "Beatrice, you're not getting Bs anymore." Announced dad, holding up a report card that he'd obviously gotten himself, since whenever I got it, I threw it away.

"Duh." I said.

"The prom-"

"It's just a semi-formal, mom." I interrupted. "And I don't want to go anyway."

"You don't?"

"Nope."

"Then you're going, if your grades aren't As tomorrow."

"That doesn't make any sense! I can't change six grades in one day-"

"Then you're going. No argument." I was silent a moment, standing in front of the coffee table, which was in front of mom and dad and Caleb. Then, I grabbed the stack of magazines and threw it at her head, threw the contents of a cup of liquid on dad, threw Caleb to the ground, and began to pummel his face, since I was sure he'd told them in the first place.

My parents jerked me off of him, but his face was already bleeding and bruised. "Bea . . . your eyes-"Caleb started.

I gasped, and looked down; my forearm was painted with gray-gold veins, and I saw in ultra-vison, colors oddly absent. "What day is it?!" I growled, trying not to open my mouth.

"Monday-" Started dad, startled. I spun away ducking my head to keep my head out of sight. I threw myself out the door, rocketing across the street, the full moon glinting above me.

That Friday was the dance; I ignored the boring gray dress Mom got me, and grabbed a pink tank and torn black jeans from my closet; my jewelry consisted of a beaded bracelet and fuck-you earrings. I curled the ends of my hair, and put on a black GIVEASHIT beanie; pink tinted nude lip-color, and white-pink-gray eyeshadow clothed my face; I had a glittering black jewel in my left eyebrow, and skull earbuds stuck in my ears, and a black knitted cardigan was pulled up around my elbows, to show off tattoos I'd gotten three days ago: a crescent moon on my left wrist, an infinity symbol with three ravens, and "be brave", and a rose under my inner elbow (**eerieeyredd on polyvore for this outfit)**. I also wore fingerless black gloves, and black, heeled boots, and carried a black bottomless bag.

I exited my house, and ran to school.

I saw Christina outside, in line for tickets.

She wore a cheetah-print dress that went to her knees, sandals, and a brown purse; golden hoop earrings, and bracelet, and an "I am happy" ring. Her hair was in a flawless braided updo, and a tattoo—not new, I'd seen it before—proclaimed "mischief managed" on her shoulder. She was with Will, who looked equally handsome.

When I got in line, the couple in front of me—I had no date—was Milina—oh, the luck—and . . . Tobias.

**I know this is a sorry update, but whatever. I wanted to write more. But now my wrist hurts.**


	5. AN

**A/N:**

**I kinda hated the last chapter, guys. Sorry if you did too. Three reviews on how it was shitty, and I'll stretch it some more, put some revenge plans and other shit in between the semi-formal and the "bye, Tris," all right?**

**Reveiw, lovelies.**

**-SelfDestructIn54321**


	6. Chapter 5

**I really only had one review on my A/N thing, and it was good . . . so. Thanks! I guess I won't modify it. Disclaimer: Disclaimed. **

Chapter 5

A sound came from the back of my throat, and I took a step back; they both turned in tune, and stared into my eyes. Tobias's looked pleading, guilty; Milina's looked nasty, mean-girl.

"Oh, hey, _Tris."_ She said, twirling a bit of hair around one finger.

"Tris?" Asked Tobias stupidly.

"You've met Tobias, right?"

"_Tris?"_

"Yeah; I've met him," I said, and, to my releif, my voice wasn't shaking, I just sounded distant.

"_Tris?"_

"Well," Milina said, obviously annoyed at Tobia's repeated intrest in my name. "We'll be on the dance floor, if you need us." She said, and I turned away as they entered through the double doors.

God, I hated her.

"Name?" Asked my biology teacher, who was maning the ticket stand.

I was walking by a row of bleachers miserably with a cup of punch when a hand wrapped around my upper arm, and flung me under them. I let out a sound of protest, a normal-volume, "Hu_h-"_ and my punch went flying. "What the fuck?!" I exclaimed, rapidly-adjusting eyes scanning the darkness for a target.

They didn't find one.

Hands shoved me into the wall, and held my arms over my head with one of theirs; I heard the scratch of a blade being unsheathed, and froze. A body pressed against mine, pinning me, and I felt my eyes glow.

"Who are you, what's your name?!" A voice yelled in my ear, not loud enough to be heard over the music.

"It's Beatrice-" I cut of with a gasp, at the cold metal, just under my elbow.

"What. Is. Your. Name?!" I could hear it now, the deepness, the anger. It was Four.

I was thinking very fast: If this was Four, and not some random guy from school, then he would want to know my nickname, the one with which I killed by, not the name my parents had given to me.

"_Tris!"_ I gasped. "It's Tris."

"Is it, really?" He yelled, pressing the knife harder to my skin.

_What the fuck, I've told you three times! _My brain screamed. "Yes—yes- It's—Tris—it's a nickname, I swear-"

"_I don't trust your swears!"_ He growled, and I could make out glowing eyes in the darkness in front of me. I sobbed on air, cowering into the wall, but my voice was steady.

"_WHAT DO YOU TRUST, THEN?!"_ I screamed. And then, he smiled. And my blood chilled.

"Guys," he smiled. "Why don't you come over here?" A group of people, legendary in the eyes of any Wolfblood, began marching toward me: Eric, former Erudite, with a peirced face and blonde hair, second only to Four; Peter, third, who had black hair and dark green eyes, and was trigger-happy for torture: I knew he'd have no problem killing me, and he'd enjoy it on the way, too; Molly—with dark hair, and a lanky frame—and Drew—with carroty hair, and muscled arms—were both his minions, and that was the whole pack, but I thought I saw a new addition to the back. "Peter," Four said. "Likes torture, as you know. His power is of it." Four said, and moved to my right side, grabbing an arm. Eric did the same on my left, and Molly shifted behind me, wrapping her hands around my mouth the instant I began to scream; Peter stepped toward me, and I immeadiately tried to kick him. Drew knelt down, grabbing my feet and holding on, earning a broken nose.

Peter rubbed his hands together, and I caught a glipse of one, before he pressed it to my face, as if in a carress: a very dark brown all over his palm, like burnt paper.

The pain didn't inch up by increments; it wasn't some and then some more; it was all at once. It felt hot, hotter than sitting next to a campfire, or even that time she'd watched her family battle a neighbor's house fire. It stung, shredding my skin beneath his, and the pain intesified, after the sting of missing flesh, the meat of actual muscle and fat being cooked like a hot pocket. Each second, he pressed harder, the pain intesified, but the edges of my vision stayed clear, darness to far away from comfort.

And I screamed.

**Way short, but I wrote the whole thing at my friend's house in the middle of the night. So deal.**


	7. Chapter 6

**Sorry about the late update, but I had to go shopping with my family at the Shasta Outlets (Stalkers, mostly including that weirdo Guest guy: leaving, bitches! Anyway, I got some awesome clothes, and my mom's gonna let me buy a Divergent hoodie over the Internet when we get settled in. What emblem should I get? Dauntless? Erudite? Reveiw, lovelies! Will/Peter/Four's outfits eerieeyredd on Polyvore.**

Chapter 6

Peter removed his hand from my face, and Four's hands tightened around my arm, as if I'd try to flee. My head flopped to the side, eyes half-closing, and slowed my breathing. I had to try to convince them that I was unconscious. I could make out the wooden flooring, laquered over. I held back a smile. Eric was letting up on my arm, but Four was unconvinced.

" . . . I mean," Peter was saying, smoothing a hand down my waist and hip, resting on my outer thigh; disgust shot through me. "She's just so . . . _stiff._ Edgy. Tense. Maybe I can let that up. . . . " His hand slid around, smoothing over my ass this time; Four growled, and let go of my arm to jump at Peter.

I took the opportunity as it came: I darted away from Dauntless, through the crowd of dancers, and found myself outside, sobbing next to a brick wall, with the knife from my boot in my hand.

I wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone anymore.

The night was quiet, so when a hand touched my shoulder, I flung myself away, raising my knife, but froze when I saw who it was.

"Holy shit, Tris!" Christina erupted, dropping to her knees in her dress. "Your fucking face!" She grabbed my chin, and tilted it to the size. "Who did this." She said, her voice hard.

I let out a damaged sound, a sort of mutant outburst. A guy was coming up behind Christina, and I was gripping my knife harder.

"Hey, Christina, are you-"Will broke off at the sight of me. "Holy shit, Tris!" He yelled; Christina's mouth ghosted a smile: they'd both said the same things. "What the Hell happened?!"

I shook my head. Never tell; then you'll be weak.

Christina understood. "Come on, Tris," she said, and helped me up. "Will." She said meaningfully, and he supported my other side; they helped me to Chris's car, and then drove me somewhere; I wasn't looking. Chris helped me out, and brushed some hair out of her face before half-carrying me to the edge of the forest; I saw Will's house a bit to the left. Will pushed a branch out of the way, like a gentleman, and then, Chris let me collapse on the ground; when I changed, I saw two opposite-color wolves next to me: streaky yellow, and dark brown. Christina and Will.

They weren't going to leave me like the rest of the pack; when I ran, they ran with me.


	8. Chapter 7

**Guys, please review. If you don't review, I feel like 1., I'm talking to myself, and 2., nobody reads or likes this story. Maybe if you review, I'll post faster! Discaimer: Disclaimed!**

Chapter 7

I'd fallen asleep in wolf form; I stood, and fluidly changed, letting my hand trail over my cheek, and sighing in releif: my face was clear, no burn. Still skin, so that's . . . cool, I guess.

Christina was already there; she was smiling, with her hands on her hips. Will was standing with his hand on her shoulder, telling her an inaudible joke. His hair was messier, and Chris's was out of its elegant updo, just parted, going to her midback, and some of it in dreadlocked braids. Her mascara was smeared, and her lipstick had worn off. There was a tear in the edge of Will's shirt, that I wanted to attack with a needle—I got to be a clean freak when I was nervous—and I was missing a quarter of my cardigan. Too bad, it was Susan's.

Yeah. Too bad.

We were in front of a sort of log-cabin house with a garage attached, a full garden, surrounded by a fence, and a dog on a chain—a german shepard, who looked visous; a barn was off to the side: I heard cows. The dog was barking heartily.

"Skippy, dammit!" Yelled a man's voice, stomping outside. "I've been telling you to be quiet for five fucking-"He stopped in his tracks. His skin was coffee-dark, a shade or two darker than Christina's, and his eyes glinted with surprise. He wore a plain shirt and shorts and tennis shoes. "Tris!" He exclaimed. "What are you guys doing here?! Oh—I mean, come on, come on in, Shauna's been talking about wanting to see you again!"

My hands were holding a cup of water that they'd pumped in from the creek, and homeade purifyers and akweducts and into the sink; it was ice-cold. Christina sat next to Shauna on a leather loveseat; I sat on a matching black couch. Christina wasn't even flinching as Shauna tore a brush through her hair; Shauna's own hair was light brown and parted in a cute way; I could never get my hair to do that. Melody Brooke—who liked just Brooke—sat across from me with two kids, an adorable two-year-old with sandy dark blonde hair, that she'd obviously gotten from someone else, and lavender-tinted pure-blue eyes; her name was Leah. The other kid sat on Brooke's lap: she also had blonde hair, but it was much shorter. Her eyes were a stubborn crystal blue, and her name was Dakota.

Brooke's dark brown hair, straight, unlike Leah's wavy locks, was long, about as long as Christina's.

Will had gone with Zeke to shoot something for lunch.

"So, Brooke," Christina, ever rude, said. "When did that happen?" She asked. Brooke's eyes narrowed, and Shauna made a scoffing sound.

"Some guy a while back." Shauna said—Brooke was her kid; she'd been, like, twelve, last time I saw her. Let's just say it's been a while. Like, she's now twenty-something. "Leah when she was seventeen."

"Mom!" Brooke exclaimed.

"Well, did you want her to lie?" Christina asked forcefully; she hated dishonesty. Brooke sighed teenagerly, dumped Dakota on the couch, and stomped to her room.

I pulled on the hem of my Shauna-borrowed sweater.

"It's alright; she's always like that." Shauna said, and smoothed Christina's hair. "I'm going to go get some cheese and crackers." She sighed, and dissappeared into the kitchen; Dakota started crying.

Christina looked at me in panic; she had a four-year-old sister, but other than Rose, she'd never seen a baby. "What do we do?!" She whisper-yelled. I shrugged, stood, and gathered the child in my arms, coddling to her and smoothing her hair. When my finger brushed her forehead, I made a that-must-hurt face.

"Shauna! Dakota has a fever!" I yelled. Christina was staring at me. "What?" I asked, without looking up; she sighed.

"You're a natrual." She said.

"So?"

"So, when Will and I have kids, I don't think I can be like that with them."

"Come on, Christina, you know you'll- Have kids with _Will?!"_

"What? What's wrong with Will?" She asked, looking shocked.

"There's nothing—I just . . . didn't think you liked him like that."

"Yeah, well . . . he's funny."

"You're only dating him because he's funny?"

"Well, he's not just funny, he's . . . cute, and nice, and protective, and . . . I don't know. He's not sexist, so there's that."

Shauna came into the room, and our Girl Talk was put on hold at the look on her face. "Some people outside would like to talk to you." She said robotically.

"Who are they?" Asked Christina.

"Some people outside would like to talk to you."

"But, like, who-"

"Chris, come on." I said, and drug her to the front door.

"Tris-" She started, when we were outside, but broke off at the people surrounding Shauna and Zeke's cabin; she screamed. One of them was holding Will, who looked dead. Zeke wasn't there.

I gasped, and jerked a dart out of my arm. I saw Christina did the same; then I saw nothing.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

My head hurt. It woke me up, and I fumbled for the medicine I kept in my nightstand for migraines. They were rare, but I didn't care; I just wanted to sleep.

My hand didn't find the brushed silver of the handle of the drawer on my night table. It streaked across what felt like cold concrete, dust all over it. I started, sitting straight up, and pushed off a dusty blanket. I was in a dusty room with a loaf of stale bread and a cup of water. Halfway through it, I realized it was probably drugged, and tried to make myself barf.

"Doesn't matter, Beatrice," came a nasty voice from the doorway. Milina. She wore a crop top and torn capris. "You'll still retain the poison, honey."

I growled, and flung myself at her. You see, that's when something weird happened: I hit what felt like an invisible wall, and fell on my ass.

"You. Can't. _Touch. _Me." Milina whispered.

And then I whimpered.

**OMG DON'T KILL ME. So short. I'm sorry. Next one will be really long though, lovelies. Review! **


	10. Chapter 9

**I don't usually do this kind of thing, but I want to dedicate this chapter to Brownies3, who fangirled about Milina being a bitch. Thank you!**

Chapter 9

Milina pulled the backpack off of her shoulders, and I pushed my body against the wall, as if it would give way so I can run.

I can't.

Milina's hair is curled to perfection, but still half of it is shaved. She pushed a bit away from her face, and pulled something from her bag, looked at it with utter satisfaction, and turned to me with an evil smile. It was a traditional knife, this time. "Now, Tris," she said, kneeling down to my level. "_Be brave,"_ she mimicked. When the blade traced my skin, I held back a scream.

The first one is always the hardest.

The Thursdays were the hardest.

Every Thursday, I stood, from my spot on the sterile white tile that covered the floor of the room that they moved me to for tests, and grabbed something from the floor that was most certainty not supposed to be there: a gun. I grab it, and exit the building—the Erudite building, from the sign outside—and go outside. I'll have a name in my mind, an appearance.

Nathan, brown hair, blue eyes, tan skin. Nita, dark hair, brown eyes, light brown skin. Alyssa, blonde hair, hazel eyes, pale skin.

Didn't matter.

What mattered is what I did after that, after exiting Erudite.

I'd kill them. No, I mean _kill_them, murder them, shot them, but no, not in the head, like, in the stomach. So they'd suffer.

No, I didn't enjoy it. I didn't _like_what I did to them. But, apparently Milina did. And that was all that mattered to Milina.

Sometimes—on alternate Mondays, and that's not a joke—Marcus, the founder of Erudite, would come in, and play with my hair. But then, it would speed up: his lips on mine, clothing on the floor. Screams of protest for me, and his possesive whispers.

My disgust.

Some days, I was aloud outside—or well, they made it look like outside, but I knew it was just another room, inside that horrible institution of a lab.

They'd hook me up to these big machines, another test. Anotherr day that I wished I was dead. Then, it had mostly been fears, facing them, realizing them, reanacting them. This was another, but a smaller fear than my usual ones, the ones that made me scream.

In this one, there was Caleb. He stood across from me, smiling a sickly smile, and held out his arms for me. I, homesick, hurtled myself at him, and he rested his chin my shoulder—he was much taller. His breath stirred my hair when he talked.

"Hey, Beatrice." He whispered, and he almost sounded like the real Caleb, my brother. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Caleb-" I started, but cut off with a gasp.

Cold metal through my shredded cream-colored sweater that Milina'd given to me after Marcus trashed my last one. Cold steel through my skin, between my ribs.

Through my heart.

"I heard you were a Wolfblood." Calebb said, lowering me to the ground. "I love you, Beatrice." He whispered.

I guessed my next fear was betrayal.

Some days were okay. I could survive, I could be okay, I could _smile,_ even, though it was never that carefree, happy smile.

But some days were horrible, the pain of a thousand memories melding together in my mind, building and building until I wanted to scream, until I was hyperventilating, my eyes flooding tears, and it wouldn't let up, until I was huddled on the floor, arms around legs, knees to my chest, and haunted eyes staring, pointlessly, at the wall. Until I was rocking back and forth, tear-stains along my cheeks. Sometimes, I would see the cameras move, those days, and sometimes, on the worst of them, the door to my little room opened, and a man stepped in. He wasn't the older one, the one I'd learned to both expect and dread's visits, but a younger one, with dark blue eyes, and dark brown hair. He always wore black. He always saw me, panicking, near the wall. Tobias. Most of the time, I was clawing at my ears and screaming like a banshee, trying to drown out the cries of hundreds of deaths.

But he'd go to me, shutting the door behind him, and I'd see a glimpse of a face, a guy, about the same as the blue-eyed one, with coffee-dark skin, wearing black. I always forgot him.

When the blue-eyed guy came up the first time, I breathed faster, shoving myself backward with an animalistic cry, and he'd stop. He drop to the ground, and he'd crawl over to me, ignoring my sounds of protests, and wrap me in his arms. I'd waited, holding my breath, waited for the twist, the In Your Face, the cold reality that I would never really be embraced like this, truly.

But it never came.

He never let it come; the second time—I was still scared of him—he hugged me, but I couldn't calm down: it was the worst yet, really. Ever. He kissed my forehead, but I got more scared; his father had done the same thing, that morning.

It never ended good.

Then, he whispered in my ear, and I felt his lips against my skin: "It's okay," he'd said. "It's okay. You're okay. I love you, Beatrice, you're alright."

My breath had caught; Marcus never said "I love you," only "you're mine," over and over again. And I hadn't heard my name in months.

"Tris." I'd gasped, automatically. And he'd kissed my cheek.

**This is short. I'm so sorry. Reveiw, lovelies! **


	11. Chapter 10

**So, yes, FourTris IS coming, guys. I know you've waited, and some of you think I'm evil, but yeah. Yeah. Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

Chapter 10

One of the days—still in the Erudite labs—in my little room, on a Tuesday—they were slow days, maybe some blood drawn or or something, but other than that, just anxiety attacks, panic attacks, and boredom, which led to more panic attacks.

Awesome, those days.

Anyway.

So, I had been resting in my corner, across from the door, when it opened. I tensed, but it wasn't an unscheduled visit from Marcus, or another test from Jeanine, or a torture session from Milina.

It was a guy—not Tobias—with black hair, and green eyes, and a wicked smile on his face. Peter.

"Hello, Trissy." He said. "I heard you've missed me." At his voice, I cringed into the wall. "Oh, and I thought you might have made cake . . . too bad." He said. "C'mere." He commanded, gesturing to himself. When I didn't move, his shoulders went up, and his face twisted. "I _said, _come _here, _Stiff!" He snarled, and dove for me, grabbing the back of my neck.

I saw a glimpse of the hallway before the door slammed shut, but the coffee-skinned guard was nowhere to be seen. Odd, I was thinking, but Peter pressed his face to mine, jerking me out of my thoughts.

Why _does everybody want to rape me?!_

I made a sound of protest, and tried to push him away; couldn't, he was like a boulder pressing me into the wall. I fumbled around, shifting, and tried not to throw up when he shoved his tongue down my throat. His hands went to the hem of my sweater, and I my knee automatically went to his balls; he growled, falling on his ass from his kneel in front of me.

I stared at him brokenly. I'd learned it from Christina, who learned it from her little sister; it made you look crazy, made people scared of you, when accompanied with slack facial features, a slight tilt of th head, and parted lips.

Easy.

Peter wasn't scared, though; he lunged at me again, caught at my leg, and gripped, hard; the scent of my burning flesh filled the room, and I let out an animalistic scream.

"_Get the fuck OFF OF ME!" _I screeched, sounding like a mental patient. Before he can try himself, I grab his wrist and fling it at his face. "You kidnap me," I scream at him, the room, the cameras. "You TORTURE ME, and you _rape_ me!" I kick Peter in the ribs for every word. "YOU WANTED TO BREAK ME?!" I yelled, and my next kick sent Peter across the room. I jumped up, and grabbed the camera off the wall with Wolfblood-esc strength. "_You have."_ I hissed into it, then smashed it into the wall until its pieces littered the tiles.

Then, I let myself out the door: someone had stuck a bobby pin in it, keeping it open. I slammed the door shut, listening for the click of the lock, and looked around for the guard; he was nowhere to be found. I raced down the hallway—to the right, that was where I went to kill the kids—and let out all my breath instictfully when someone grabbed my arm and slammed me into the wall. A shadow moved in front of me, and the other pressed to my side, the first one. My hands worked the stupid bow out of my hair, to wrap around someone's neck, but a familiar voice stopped me.

"Are you okay?" Tobias asked, next to me.

"I'm not bleeding." I mumble.

"Well, that's always good," whispers the guy in front of me, and I reciognize him as the guard.

"Who the Hell are you?" I asked dimly. He turned.

"Well, Tris, always appreciative-"

"Zeke!" I whisper-yelled, and threw my arms around him. "Wait," I said, pulling back. "What the Hell were you doing standing outside my cell and _not letting me out?!"_

"Oh. That." Zeke said.

"Yeah, oh-" I cut myself off, melding into the shadows. Zeke turned around.

Milina was walkin to my room. She turned the corner.

"Why aren't your eyes yellow?" Tobias whispered.

"They gave me some anti-transformation shit." I whispered back.

"Why?" He asked.

"Are you stupid?!" I whisper-yelled. "Do I really have to explain this to you?!"

"Shut up," Tobias mumbled.

"You shut up! Why the Hell are we in a hallway?!"

"Tris, _shut your fucking mouth."_ He said.

Shock blanked my mind. He sounded like Four.

"Dude." Said Zeke.

_You shouldn't have said that._

A scream sounded from my room. "_WHERE IS MY PLAYTHING?!"_ Milina screeched.

I smoothed my daisy-printed Milina-given skirt and pulled down the hem of my sweater.

Then, I pushed free of the boys, crossed the hall, and put one hand on the wall.

My fingers—sprouting claws—dug forrows into the wall. _Change, dammit._

My eyes turned yellow.

"Tris!" Exclaimed Zeke.

"BEATRICE!" Yelled Milina.

My head snapped up. My hair stirred around my shoulders with the sharp movement, and my upper lip pulled off of my teeth in a snarl.

"Oh, please," Milina said. "You wouldn't actually-" My fist made contact with her jaw. The force rocketed her into the wall, where I grabbed the side of her neck, and threw her at the ground. I then kicked her in the ribs multiple times.

"Yeah." I growled. "I wouldn't."


	12. Chapter 11

**:P. Disclaimer: Disclaimed. Guys, I'm sorry to say this, but. FourTris might take a while. She has to forgive him for the torture with Peter, and EVERYTHING else that he did, and yeah. Yeah. Sorry!**

Chapter 11

Hollow thuds expelled from the door at Tobias's side-of-the-fist knocks; Zeke's looking around, and I'm kicking at the ground angrily.

The door opens to a girl with coffee-dark skin and dark brown hair, wearing a collared pastel red button -up, tied to make it a crop top, torn capris, a floral jacket, and sandals. "Tris!" She squeaks. "What the Hell are you wearing?!"

"Shit." I replied. "You have medical training, right?"

"Um, not proffesional-"

I pushed past her, wincing, and went up to her room, upstairs. Will was there, looking through a stack of magasines.

"Tris!" He exclaimed. He was wearing a black shirt and matching pants and high tops. "You're back!"

"Yeah." I said, and plopped down into a bean bag.

Christina came in a minute later, while Will and I were discussing Imagine Dragons intensely.

"What's wrong, Tris?" She asked.

"First, get my OUT of these clothes. Second, take to a forest. And third, help me beat up Tobias. Wait, that rhmed."

"Who the Hell's Tobias?" Asked Will.

"An assfuck." I said.

Christina tossed some clothes at my head, and I went to her bathroom to change.

A gray shirt, skinny jeans, and converse from two years ago later, and I was running out to Will's house painfully; it was the entrace to the forest we used most often.

**THIS WAS THE SHITTIEST CHAPTER YET. I need some filler ideas, guys, please review. I need to weave in some FourTris into SOMETHING. Review!**


	13. Chapter 12

**Who's . . . writing today? Answer: not me! I don't have . . . any ideas. So yeah. Help me here, lovelies. Review ideas! I'm trying for a revenge scene, but . . . yeah. I NEED FILLERS. What the fuck can I do? Kidnap—ooh. Hey. So, I guess I am writing today, lovelies! Review fillers, PRETTY PLEASE WITH DAUNTLESS CAKE ON TOP, LOVELIES.**

Chapter 12

:P

"Why not?!"

"Because, your m-"

"You do it then!"

"But I—hey, don't cry! Please—just—FINE. I'll do it. You remember the first part, right? Well, I'm retelling it anyway."

:P

.OneMonthLater.

My light snoring was interrupted by a scream that immeadiately awakened me; I sat bolt upright and threw myself out of bed, heedless of my oversized black sweater hanging off on shoulder; a person—I could see pink hair—was dragging a familiar figure down the hallway. I followed not Caleb's mop of light brown curls, but the half-shaved head of Milina,

When her hair disappeared around the corner leading to the stairs, I darted around it, yelling. "BITCH, YOU CAN'T OUT RUN ME!" And

"BEATRICE-" Caleb's muffled voice.

I didn't answer him; sound of weakness.

"Shut UP!" Milina yelled, presumably at Caleb. I saw her, and she—distracted—left me an opportunity to grab her hair. I jerked back, and Caleb fell down the stairs. Milina slammed into the wall-eyes yellow, as my own were—and growled; my snarl both silenced hers, and rattled the house.

My fist slammed into her head, and her eyes dimmed. Before I could think, my Wolfblood instincts taking over, I dragged her down the hallway and stairs by her hair, which she'd dyed the most of caramel-colored, matching mine.

Fucking weirdo.

I threw her in the basement, followed by a dining room chair and long string of chain from the garage.

**FPOV**

I angrily slammed my hand on the nightstand, pawing for my phone. What the Hell time was it? Three a. m. ?

"Fuck." I expelled, at one look at my phone. It was ten. I was late for school. I got up, searching for a clean shirt, when my phone started to scream at me. I'd put the default ringtone as someone screaming bloody murder. I held back from throwing it at the wall like I had many times before, and saw _Unknown Number_ displayed prominintley on the screen. "Hello?"

"Tobias?" Asked a familiar female voice.

"Tris?" I asked before I could think. "Er—I mean, Beatrice."

"Yeeeeeah. I need your help."

"What? Why?" I shifted the phone to my other ear, and grabbed a shirt from the floor, checking it for stains and smells. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, I just—I remember what you and Peter did to me the other day—I can't believe I'm doing this, by the way—and you helped me escape, so. . . . " She trailed, and quickly said her net words. "I need your help torturing someone!"

"_Why?"_ I asked, pulling the shirt over my head.

"Because—just—you remember Milina, right?"

"I'll be right over."

**Are you excited? I know I've been sucking shit at chapters lately, but yeah. Yeah. I'm gonna post something soon. Don't know what it's gonna be called. Yeeeeah. Yeah. SUGGEST FILLERS.**


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed. Review, lovelies. **

Chapter 13

Blue painted the kitchen when I opened my eyes; side effect of staring at the sun without opening your eyes. I heaved a deep breath and went to get the door.

It was-

"What the Hell should I call you?" I asked carelessly, letting him step inside, but spinning with him and shutting the door behind him. I would never turn my back to him. _Ever._

"I dunno. You know both of my names." He said.

"I'm just gonna call you Four. You sound like a bigger ass that way."

"Yeah, well." Four said. "Where's Milina?"

"Unconsios in my basement; why?"

"What do you mean why? You asked for my help torturing her!"

"Yes, but-"

"No buts!"

"You're a butt!"

"You're a butt!"

"Well, you're an immature dick!"

"Who's help you need with torture, since you're a mature bitch."

"Fuck you!" I yelled, and pushed him into the kitchen, where he began going through the cabinets.

"Make you some chamomile tea." He mumbled. "YOU NEED TEA!"

I went upstairs, searching for Caleb's old boom box (he's suck a fucking weirdo). Knee-deep in chemistry papers he'd shoved after turning them in00he does it with all te ones he doesn't get As or A-pluses on—I felt cold metal at my neck,

I froze, letting myself get pulled to my full height, shutting my eyes as hair brushed my cheek. "Hello, Beatrice." Said Caleb, and my blood ran cold. I opened my eyes to see that the hair—too long for Caleb, and not done up into a neat parted slicked down style—was not Milina-pink, but light brown.

My brother.

"_Caleb!"_ I exclaimed. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Yeah," Said Caleb, ignoring me. "You were covincig, all right, but I can't ignore what my brain tells me. You're _not_ my sister."

"Shut UP, and get OFF me!" I said, my Wolfblood insticts telling me to get Four's attention, but he was still my brother, and I knew Four would ruin him.

If anyone was ruining my brother, it was me.

"Shut _up, _ Beatrice. I heard you and your little friend talking out there, I'm not stupid. Now, you're going to do exactly what I say. . . . "

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .. . . . . .

I squeezed my eyes shut at the pain of the knife in back—literally "You better keep to the plan, Beatrice. You know what I'll do if you don't."

All at once, I heard his voice replaying in my mind. _One wrong move, Beatrice, ONE, and I swear. I'll do it. _

"Hey, Four." I said. He turned from the stove, where he was boiling water.

"Hey, Tr-"

"_Beatrice."_ I coughed, and he gave me a weird look.

"Who's that?" He asked, susppiscion in his tone.

"This is my brother, Caleb." I said, smiling my fake smile, begging him to see through it. "He—mmm—knows everything." I said, holding back a wince as he dug into the skin just uder my skin with the knife point.

"No he doesn't." Four sighed.

"Yes, I do." Caleb protested, and pressed the knife into my skin so that I gasped.

I nodded hurriedly on with him, biting back my screams of frustration and my confused brain forgetting whether or not I wanted Four to see the boiling in my eyes, the held back I-am-going-to-kill-you that was directed at my brother.

Four's eyes—that beautiful, mysterious, blue, that blue of clowded cobalt rivers—dipped down a shade and sparkled with kindling anger, the same I knew my parents had seen in my eyes many times over, the same anger that had led my psycholigist to call me biopolar, to prescribe me meds I didn't take, meds that I'd myself throw up after my mom shoved them down my throat when I was twelve. I knew why she didn't try it again, too—because one, it didn't work in the first place, two, because my room was torn to Hell and took nearly a thousand dollars to fix, the furniture the walls that needed cheatrock and paint, the carpets, and doors and windows, and three, because I was broken the next day, crying, always crying silently, mumbling half-formed apologies between sobs and curling into a ball on the floor everytime I was left alone, guilty, because I finally knew, I knew what was going on; I knew what I was. One of my teachers had told me, reciognizing the signs, before he was killed; I was a Wolfblood, and every other person who was one had anger problems, too.

If you didn't, you weren't a Wolfblood.

It was in all of us.

"What are you doing to her?" Four asked forcefully, angrily. He was squeezing his fists, and his veins were beginning to glint gold. He took a step forward.

Caleb retaliated, pressing the middle of the knife this time, and my breath caught, hands going up to squeeze the fake-denim fabric hem of the button-up I'd changed into (**You know my Polyvore; it's on my bio)** and my eyes squeezing shut, a tear tracing my cheekbone.

Four broke.

He stomped toward us, and Caleb sliced with the knife enough to do the damage before Four grabbed his neck and threw my brother at the wall; I tumbled to the ground, the side of my body hitting hard and the skin over my hip breaking open and gushing blood, where it stained the black tank underneath my button-up; I tipped over onto my stomach, and my eyes automatically shut, so I couldn't see the fight.

I heard the crunch of a bone, probably Caleb's nose. Someone fell, and someone else kicked the other, and glass broke.

And all I was doing was sitting still.

**HOLY FUCK IT'S A CLIFFY. I'm so evil. Review, lovelies. :P**


	15. Chapter 14

**Hey, lovelies. Special message: to the Guest (first, put a fucking name if you're going to insult me, bitches): am I stupid? Am I, please, just tell me, because WHY ON EARTH WOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON IN MY STORY?! Maybe you were trying for constructive critisism, or whatever the Hell, but really. All I saw was assery, and I am the queen of the bitches, homeskillet. Fuck off. I know what I'm doing. Plus, how do you say, "this has a good plot" three minutes before saying "your plot is shit"? Were you drunk?**

**Forgive my Dauntless-esc outburst, please.**

**Anyway. This chapter is dedicated to RedDivergentDragon, for fangirling IN ALL CAPS. **

**Review, lovelies. Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

**P.S., my sister's such a fucking Amity. **

Chapter 14

"Tris! Tris, please, wake up!" I hear Tobias next to my ear, in his soft, gentle voice, pleading with me. I try to move, twitch a finger, anything to let him know I'm not dead.

"She's not going to." Said Caleb, with a cold laugh. "I paralysed her."

"You did WHAT?!" Four yells. "Tris! Tris, please-"

A sound of protest climbs up my vocal chords, through unmoving lips. Tobias gasps, and suddenly I'm in the air, my head flopping to one side, but I'm not falling; someone's carrying me, I can feel a hand on my back, tense I am myself. He rests me on a flat surface—probably the bar.

"Tris," he said, smoothing my hair. "Tris." He pries open my eyes, so I'm staring at him. "Tris, babe, you've got to change."

"Mmm . . . " I say, unable to shake my head. "I can't. . . . Milina-"

"MILINA!" Four yells, and disappears; I hear a door open, and a feminine shriek. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!"

"It's just anti-transformation serum!" Milina yelled, scared; a crash sounds from the basement, and Milina screams. "HERE! HERE, GOD HERE!" Milina screeched, and a door slams. I see Four dig through the cabinets, and come up with a frying pan. Then, he walks out of my vision, and I hear a scuffle and a bang.

Caleb's down.

"Come on, Tris." Four said, and picked me up, bridal style.

**:P. This is short, but I almost didn't post today. Credit goes to my sister for Tris's cure.**


	16. Chapter 15

**Ugh, guys, I'm so boor ed. So bored that I just said Boor-Ed. Yep. I know. Very bored. Disclaimering: Diclaimedtown. Ugh. BOREDOM. Song Of The Day: Evanescence/Together Again.**

**Oh, and BTDubbs, there is sort of witchcraft/sorcery in this chapter, because I couldn't come up with any other way to cure Tris, and my sister, who gave me the only idea, suggested this whole witchcraft-ish ritualistic type of . . . ritual. Don't judge me, I'm tired!**

**Be Warned!**

Chapter 15

"Will. Find a cow. Steal it's brain." Four says, and Will wordlessly turned to the door, snagging a pickle jar on his way out. "Christina. Find a mouse. Don't kill it." He said, and Christina flipped on her black leather jacket, grabbed a tupperware container, and exited a minute behind her boyfriend.

Tobias sat heside me.

"Now all we can do is wait." He said.

. . . . . . .. . . .. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Will returned before Christina, splattered in blood and carrying his pickle jar close; Four moved me off the bar to begin smashing the brain into what he said was cake batter.

Will went upstairs to borrow one of Caleb's shirts, since his was no longer blue, but a rusty color.

Christina came back with ruffled hair. Four glanced at the directions and looked to me.

"It says Tris has to kill it." He said.

"What?" Asked Christina.

"She's paralysed!" Will exclaimed.

"Yes, well. The only way she can break out of her paralytic spell, is by transphorming."

"Gieee." Came from my mouth. Four put the wiggling mouse in my palm, and I placed my fingers on its side. "Eyees."

Chris did this one, and I breathed deeply.

I thought about Four—not Tobias—and I thought about Peter and I thought about Milina, and claws shout from my hand, and into the rat, who sqealed.

After crushing its bones and opening my eyes, I was taken into the upstairs bathroom, which had the biggest (and most exsistent) tub.

Will grabbed my hand, and one of the kitchen knifes. When he met my eyes, he wasn't smiling. "We need blood." He said. "This is gonna hurt."

"Mmm." I said. He put the knife on my wrist—horizontal—and cut across, on side to the other. I didn't make a sound.

After dripping my blood into the liquified brains and dust of mouse bones, Chris dumped the concoction into the tub—which they filled to the top—and Four sat me up against Will and grabbed my hand. He dipped it in the tub, and I cried out.

He didn't stop; he mixed the shit with my hand, and it felt like acid against my skin.

"Okay." Four said, finally. "Now you have to get in it."

I made a half-growl of protest, but Four picked me up in his arms, and stood, nethertheless. "_Don't you dare put me in there, Tobias Eaton!" _I snarled. He smiled. Then, he dropped me. "HOLY FUCK!" Flew from my mouth, resulting in the shit getting in my mouth. "YOU'RE SUCH AN ASS!" I screamed, as the concoction ate my skin.

"How long?"

"Fifteen minutes."

I sobbed on air.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Is she trying to change?" Asked Chris.

"Yes," confirmed Will, right before I jumped out of the tub and onto Four's face.

Fucktard saw me coming and threw himself at the wall, shifting.

_Dammit._ I thought.

Four was laughing.

I huffed in defeat and went to shower off the gunk.


	17. Chapter 16

**My neck hurts. Ugh. Disclaimer: Disclaimed. SOTD: Lzzy Hale\Lindsey Stirling/Shatter Me. Oh, and should I just delete my AN chapters? 'Cause quite frankly, the fact that when I try to post chapter sixteen or whatever, it's like "oh, you mean chapter eighteen." IT ANNOYS THE CRAP OUT OF ME, LOVELIES. Review! P.S.: QOTD: (Should I do these continuously?) Is your sister—or sibling—as annoying as mine? AOTD: YES! Polyvore is on my bio if you don't already know it.**

Chapter 16

Milina looked paper-white. I was pretty sure why; after two days with minimal water and nonexsistent food, I'd finally showed myself.

What? Bitch was in MY basement.

I was wearing a cropped gray sweater—three quarter-sleeved—black jeans, and my boots. My hair was in an extravagant ponytail, and I was wearing lip gloss, and—being serious—mascara that Christina recommended very highly. My nails were painted black.

I thought Milina'd finally given up. I did, which is why I didn't watch her while I took the knife from my boot—I didn't want to make a mess, so a clean through-the-eyeball type kill would be better.

I traced my finger along the blade, and locked eyes with Milina; something burst in hers—determination, I thought—and she threw herself up from the ground. Her fingers caught at the blade and her blood would've stained my sweater if it was full sized—I would've been pissed. She helped it at my my head, but I ducked just in time, and her surprise window was then closed; I threw the knife at her face, and she batted it at the door.

We stared at each-other, then the blade, then back. Then, I slammed my forearm into her neck, and dove for the knife.

She went for the wall, but dissappeared before she could hit; she reappeared in front of me, a step ahead, but I grabbed her leg, jerked, and her face hit the floor. I gripped the back of her foot—the part that doors always seem to catch on—and let my claws shoot out. She screamed. I scrambled over her, claws retracting, and grabbed the knife.

My hands poised ir over her chest, and they drove down about an inch before I stopped, frozen; my body turned gray, as if encased in stone, and Milina wiggled out from underneath my blade. Her hand slipped into my jeans pocket, retreiving the basement key, and she marched upstairs.

I heard the door click as it locked behind her.

I screamed in frustration as my attempts to move were thwarted, and concentrated hard on Milina. Cracks began to riddle the rock.

Bitch tried to kill me.

_Crack._

She put a curse on me so I couldn't use my Wolfblood powers.

_Craaack._

She STOLE my BLADE.

_CRAACK._

The forcefeild broke. I spun off of my knees, standing, and shook my cramping hands out.

Milina was opening the front door; I football tackled her into the wall and shut it with my foot. Her eyes shone antifreeze green with anger.

Doesn't she have brown eyes?

Her fist hit my face, and I flew into the wall; the entryway was small. I landed a kick on her nose, and heard a crack.

"Guess who has a broken no-ose!" I taunted, and she grabbed my leg and twisted. "Ow—ow!" I expelled, and rolled with it—literally. My other foot caught her in the nose again.

She screamed and let go before diving over my head. I shot up, and saw her in the kitchen. My eyes glinted, and I dove at her.

. . . . . .**FPOV**. . . .. . . . . . .

Someone was screaming across the street, and it was annoying the crap out of me.

I was going to go to the door, but I saw a scuffle, someone run past the curtains, and went over to the kitchen window. A girl with pink and blonde hair—Milina, by her soft nose and almond-shaped eyes—was going for the knives set up by the stove; her hand went out to grab one, but a second before her bloody fingers made contact, a girl with caramel blonde hair in an elaborate ponytail dove at her—high enough that I saw her outfit through the window—and Milina's head hit the counter.

I stood on my tiptoes to see the blonde girl grab Milina's hair and smash her into the white tile. When Milina stopped groaning, she grabbed a steak knife from the edge of the counter without standing, and effortlessly drove it through Milina's temple.

I was smiling.

The blonde girl stood up, showing her profile—the long nose, big eyes, and high cheekbones labeled her as Tris, which made me smile wider.

She looked around, then grabbed something from Milina's boot. A knife.

"Bitch." Tris spat—actually spat—and wiped the dagger on Milina's grey pants. "Stole my blade." She grumbled, and kicked the girl in the head. "Dyed your hair my color! Which, I mean, that's just fucking creepy. You're a fucking stalker."

I cleared my throat, and she looked up. She pushed open the window over the sink. "Hey." She said softly.

"Hi. So she's dead?" I asked.

She smiled in triumph. "Yep. I killed the bitch."

"Finally." I said. "So, I watched you in that last part."

"Why." She replied cautiously, narrowing her eyes.

"'Cause I heard her scream. Anyway. What you did there, that was pretty Dauntless."

"What?"

"Look, I know your Pack-less right know, and you have a lot of Dauntless material."

"Are you asking me to join?"

"Well, you still have to pass initiation."

"Of course."

"But, yes. I'm inviting you."

Tris squealed.

**THIS WAS SHORT BUT YEAH. I needed to put SOMETHING up. Review, lovelies.**


	18. Chapter 17

**INFOTATION:**

**SILVER SKIES:**

**Starting at the beginning: Dauntless never showed up for the scheduled fight in chapter 1. Susan is alive, Abnegation is together, and there is no peace treaty with Divergent. **

**Caleb is dead. Four disposed of his body. Milina is dead. **

**Tris is invited to Dauntless initiation. **

**Tris's parents are on a business trip, and have been since basically they banished her to the dance. **

**ME:**

**I just realized I posted chapter sixteen twice. I changed it, so don't bother looking. **

**ALSO:**

**HOLY FUCK IT'S BEEN SO LONG.**

**OTHER THINGS:**

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed. SOTD: Metric/Help I'm Alive. Review, lovelies!**

Chapter 17

"What do you think is happening?" Christina asked.

"Shut up," says Four, almost serendipitously. He's holding a flashlight.

"I don't know." I mumble back. "Does it matter?" Christina looks at the floor. Milina kicked her out of Divergent because she saw that Chris went back for me, didn't treat me like an outcast after Milina replaced me.

Will was the current leader of Divergent; Chris broke up with him when he decided on taking it.

We all knew he wasn't cut out for leader.

"Where are we going?" Chris asked, and then something slammed behind us. We both spun; a stone wall had slammed down between us and Four.

"Hey!" Yelled Chris.

"_Chris._" I warned. She turned, and her legs immediately bent, shoulders going up defensivly.

Fifteen or so Wolfbloods with yellow eyes were looking at us.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU STARING AT US?!" I yelled. Two hours later, and we were still the objects of utmost attention. Christina was on the floor with her eyes closed, trying not to change. Everyone's eyes were yellow.

It looked to be a sort of deep canyon; a group of Wolfbloods were trying to scale the walls. Most just looked at us with blank eyes.

Assholes.

"Hey!" Yelled a familiar voice from a ways away.

Chris's head snapped up.

"TRIS! IS THAT YOU?!" Yelled a brown-skinned guy with friendly eyes.

"Uriah!" I yelled, and jumped at him.

"Tris! I thought you were dead!" He set me down, and I pulled down my shirt.

"So you're not in Divergent anymore?" I asked.

"Nope! Left when you did." He said. Well that was . . . loyal. I guess.

"Really?"

"Yep. Hey Christina,"

"Hi. So how long have you been here?"

"Not long, about a couple hours, how about you?"

"Only like two." I said.

"The longest was this girl Cara who was here for two days."

"Do you know _why _we're here?" Chris asked.

"No. But they feed us!"

Ugh. Uriah and food.

"They feed us mostly cake!"

I snapped my head up. "Cake? Where's cake? I want cake."

"Okay, I'll go get you some." Uriah said.

"And me too!" Christina yelled.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . .. …

The cake was heaven.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A day later—my red-and-white shirt was darker, my red hightop converse dusty, and my gray nail polish was chipping. My hair was also curling a lot, do to the heat and sweat.

Christina's was alight with frizz, that she readily complained about; her capris and crop top were made better for the heat than my three-quarter-sleeve top and full-length jeans.

She even wore lighter shoes, dammit.

Anyway. A day later, the walls started moving. Just a bit, near the floor, revealing tiny pipes.

They then started spitting water.

As the canyon filled up, we looked for ways to climb away from it; but, of course, it was useless. We'd searched these walls uselessly for hours upon hours.

"What the Hell!" Growled someone.

"Wait! Look! A ladder-" Immediately, everyone crowded around the girl, and, in surprisingly orderly fashion, climbed up.

When we were all up, the ground began to tremble.

"Fuck!" Exclaimed an annoying blonde kid.

"What do we do now?!"

**I know, lovelies. THIS IS VERY SHORT. Sorry, guys, I didn't wanna go through all of initiation yet. **


	19. Chapter 18

**Hey. Wussup. Yeah. I'm cool now. Whatever. Disclaimer: Disclaimed. SOTD: Three Days Grace/Gone Forever.**

Chapter 18

After a run over a long rope (not kidding) bridge, up some more ladders and across a platform, we all stand on what seems to be a roof, backed up onto a cliff. There was a hole in it, and a chalk sign pointed to it.

It read, simply, "Jump."

"Do we do it?" Asked Uriah.

"Well, yeah," said an annoying Wolfblood with red hair. "We can do what's on that-" she pointed to the Jump sign, then another off to our left. "Sign, or what's on that one."

The other sign said, "Or die."

"I'm jumping." I said, and approached the edge of the cliff.

"Dude, Tris, are you sure-" started Uriah.

"Yeah, Tris, it's looks kinda untrustworthy." Said Chris.

"What else are we gonna do? Die?" I asked sarcastically. "This is a perfectly controlled area. The rocks aren't real, and the sand is too manufactured. I guarantee that this is some sort f weird-ass . . . initiation, or what the Hell ever, alright?"

"How did you know all that?" Asked the annoying girl.

"I'm a Wolfblood." I said. "I notice things." With that, I jumped.

Chris screeched.

The fall seemed to take forever. The air rushed past my face, and I knew that it had been a mistake. I wasn't supposed to jump.

When I hit the net, I held back a gasp. After I settled, I clapped my hands over my face, and laughed. When I could breathe regularly again, I sat up. A dozen hands were stretched out towards me; I grabbed the first I could reach, and he pulled me off the net.

"He" was the boy attached to the hand, who also happened to be Four. I jerked away from him when I saw his face. I wasn't going to let this bitch help me.

Backstabbing asshole.

"Hey," He mouthed; I ignored him. "First jumper—Tris! Welcome to Dauntless." He said, louder, and clapped me on the back, pushing me at an exit.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . .

"I will be your instructor; my name is Four-"

"Four like the number?" Snorted the annoying girl.

"Yes. Exactly like the number." He said. "Anyway, this is the Pit, which you will someday learn to love. It-"

"The Pit? Clever name."

"What's your name?" Four growled, all up in her cheez-its.

"Fran!" Chokes the girl.

"Well, _Fran, _ the first thing you will learn from me, is to keep. Your mouth. _Shut. _Alright?"

Fran nods furiously.

"Good." He said, and jerked away.

Scared initiates, scary instructors. . . .

_Welcome to Initiation, Tris. _


	20. ANerton

**Hey, lovelies. I have some horrible news. I won't be updating for another week. I'm going on a weeks long camping trip. Without Internet.**

**Dammit. **

**I'll update in bulk when I get into my house and get Internet, but it's gonna be a while, lovelies.**

**Story Recommendation: Tris's Secret, by BeBraveTris123.**

**- Cassie.**


	21. Chapter 19

**Hi. Yeah. I'm back. Kind of. I don't know. My laptop's broken, so I'm currently on my ****sister****'****s.**

**Lovely. **

**So, until, say, end of October, ****I will not be superfantastic.**

**So. Yeah. Have fun with that. Excuse me while I die.**

**When this story is over, I'll edit through the whole thing and repost, erasing authors notes and stuff.**

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed. SOTD: Icon For Hire/Think I'm Sick. ****This chapter dedicated to ReadingIsPeace. **

Chapter (**Jesus, there's so many of them) **19

To say Dauntless initiation was hard would be the understatement of the fucking century. "There are three stages," Four had said, first day of training. "The first is physical, the second is emotional, and third is mental." He'd pointed to the smart board on the wall (**look, lovelies, it's the 20th century, got it? Nobody in there right mind would hand out CHALK BOARDS. For those of you who don't know what a smart board is, it like a GIANT iPad that you hang on the wall and have to use a "special" stylus to play with. Whatever. I FORGOT THE WORD.)**, and it immediately lit up with numbers, no names filling the spots yet. "This is your lifeline," Four said. "Your name is not on the board, you're out."

"Out?" Asked the annoying blonde—Fran. Her nose was crooked. "What the Hell do you mean, out?"

"I mean, _out." _His face scrunched up into a sarcastic expression. "What, did you think I was joking?"

Fran was speechless. In a minute of Four staring, his dark blue eyes cruel, waiting for a response, her crystal-blue eyes began weeping tears.

Wimp.

He snorted in disgust. Then, he smiled cruelly. "First jumper." He said. "Last jumper. You will be the first duel."

"What the fuck's a duel?" I asked.

A duel, I discovered, was where two initiates go into a big circle and beat the crap out of each other.

Needless to say, I won.

Divergent initiation was more about guts than beating the shit of fellow teammates. Although that was necessary, too. Why would you recruit a bad fighter? Only, Divergent's loyalty, bravery, intelligence, and selflessness tests both took less time, and were not as raw as Dauntless's.

Like this: jump on that moving train. It's not gonna slow down. Just, like, do it.

What the Hell? Divergent was like, jump off that cliff in wolf form and into the water and- Crap. Yeah. Maybe Dauntless isn't as bad.

The first week was mostly trying to kill the other initiates repeatedly. I won the next two fights, but then ended up in the infirmity after I fought this goth shithead dude who didn't even give me time to fight back. Like, I put one foot in the ring and he threw my across the arena, then repeatedly kicked me until I passed out.

At lunch, Chris, Uriah, and I barely made any conversation. We mostly just ate. They served the cake they had in the canyon. Baked goods seemed to be their specialty.

That was the recap of the first three days.

Today was the third day. End of it, anyway. They'd let me out of the infrmity stumbling, bruised and puffy-faced, with lungs that hurt to expand.

I had rested for what felt like no time before I dozed off.

One thing was for sure—Dauntless initiation was dangerous.

But I would pass it, if it killed me.

**Holy crap, this shitty update took forever. I'll try and update soon, lovelies. **


End file.
